


Not Everyone Lives (But That's Okay)

by misaffection



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Spyvember
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27400342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misaffection/pseuds/misaffection
Summary: Another world, another war. Sometimes diplomacy fails, and the Master is (weirdly) there to pick up the Doctor's pieces
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Not Everyone Lives (But That's Okay)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Spyvember Day 5 "napping in inappropriate places"  
> I just about made the prompt as there is napping, and the Master is inappropriate

There were days when diplomacy didn't work. When two factions were so focused on obliterating each other, they wouldn't listen to reason. Today was one such day, and the Doctor had to walk away before her sanity leaked out of her ears. She leaned against a corridor wall, forehead pressed to its cool, smooth surface in attempt to ease her headache.

“Some people just don't want to be saved,” said a voice behind her, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Taking from personal experience?”

“What do you think?”

A shadow fell across her as the Master joined her, back against the wall. She opened her eyes and cast a sideways glance at him. He stared off, a vaguely sour expression on his face. She took a breath, then let it and the question she'd almost asked out.

“Hate can't be that enjoyable, surely?”

“What else is there?” He sounded a little sad, but then he shook himself and turned to face her. Not that she'd moved. “It's not a reflection on you, you know.”

“Hm.”

“That's not to say it's not your fault.”

She lifted her head to glare at him. “Get stuffed.”

He laughed. He pushed off the wall and stood behind her. Before she gathered her thoughts enough to ask what he was up to, his hands were on her shoulders, his thumbs on the muscle either side of her spine and…

“Oh god.”

“Yes and no,” he murmured, voice hot against her ear. “I never claimed the latter.”

He wasn't half as funny as he thought himself to be, but the Doctor's attempt at telling him that dissolved into a groan of pleasure as his thumbs worked another knot out. Her shoulders dropped on their own accord, and her head rolled.

“You're very tense,” he noted. “Sʼall that worry. You need to relax more.”

“Hard when I'm trying to save the universe.”

“Some days it doesn't want saving. Ask me how I know.”

Gosh, that was a blast from the past. Literally. She was surprised he still thought about that, then felt guilty for it. She knew he cared more than he let on. She'd not get under his skin, otherwise.

The question didn't need to be asked. She knew how he knew. She'd been there, unable to stop him from burning a galaxy. Unable to pull himself back to the friend she'd loved. Unable to do more than watch him shift into something else.

She acknowledged the pain he'd felt. The anger. She considered her own grief, and leaned into his touch. His thumbs stilled, then her hair ruffled at his heavy sigh.

“Fixed point,” he said, voice soft, and of course she knew that. Had it not been, she'd have changed it, or at least tried damn hard.

But not everyone wanted to be saved.

“Why are you here?” she asked him.

“Cos you need me, love. Someone has to point out the error of your ways.”

“They won't listen.”

“It's not your fault. You tried.”

“I failed.”

His hands rubbed her upper arms. “Sometimes that happens, love. Good intentions can only go so far.”

She was against him fully now. He was warm and solid, and yes, she did need him right now. She let her head drop back on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

“God, I'm tired.”

He moved, and she seemed to fall, but then his arms were around her and her feet were no longer on the ground. She yelped and wriggled.

“I'll drop you on the bloody floor,” he warned.

She stilled. He carried her along the corridor of silver doors, and stopped in front of a black one. He kicked it open and she was not at all surprised to see that the 'room' it led to was a dusty study with books and paperwork everywhere. It seemed that the Master's current regeneration was something of a slob.

The door slammed behind him. He carried her into a second room, this time with a large bed. She was dumped on it with little fanfare, then he sat on the mattress and began to unlace her boots. The Doctor was about to protest, but yawned instead. Okay, very tired. And the way his thumbs made small circles on the soles of her feet was nice. She couldn't recall the last time he'd been nice.

He looked over at her, his black hair flopping down over his eyes in a way that was almost… cute. Her fingers itched to comb it back. To touch the rough stubble on his cheeks. To map his luscious lips.

“Steady, girl,” he murmured, and her face heated at the realisation their thoughts were linked. When had she made contact? He shook his head with a soft laugh. “You left the door open, love. I can slip inside you any time I want.”

Her mouth gaped, her blush deepening as his double entendre made interesting parts of her body tingle. There'd always been a push-pull between them. It was just more pull right now. He massaged her calves, adding to the languid feeling already weighing her limbs. Exhaustion tugged at her.

“You might as well sleep,” the Master told her. “Nothing else is going to happen.”

“Why not?” Hang on, that was not the question she'd intended to ask. “I mean–”

“That's exactly what you meant.” A smile flickered across his face. “It's nothing personal. You're just knackered. And feeling sorry for yourself. As much as I could take advantage of that, I'd rather it be... well, mutual. I'm not into coercion.”

The Doctor snorted. “Liar.”

“Okay, not like that.”

She considered it. He was being truthful. The tingling parts of her would have to wait. She was too tired. “I suppose you want my full attention.”

His grin was wolfish. “Exactly.” He got up from the bed, flipped the cover her over, then bent down and kissed her forehead. She wasn't so tired that she didn't notice how it lingered. “Nap, love. We can be inappropriate once you've rested.”

“That a promise?”

Now it was his turn to look startled, though it lasted all of half a second. Then the wolf grin returned and he winked at her. She giggled as he sauntered out, though her amusement faded as tiredness swept over her. She let her eyes close and pushed the thoughts of war out of her head. She had tried. She had failed. But the Master was right – she couldn't save everybody, especially those that didn't want to be saved.

He didn't. She knew that. Perhaps she couldn't. That didn't mean she wasn't going to try.


End file.
